It’s a joke in my family that I have something like supersonic hearing. Really good hearing. It’s honestly astonishingly good hearing for certain things. You could call me The Princess and The Pea for sound.
But with great gifts come great burdens. Loose bearing anywhere in the car? My poor husband has to hear about it for months before the mechanic will even agree to work on it.
Woody Allen said about his parents: “They hear like WOLVES.” Maybe we’re related.
So with the lovely Spring weather, the streets of Greenwich Village are suddenly alive with life. And as it happens, a musician, a horn player, is on Day 2 of practicing or playing some kind of endless free-style ‘music’ in range of my good ears. I figured he was on the busy corner, busking.
Race walking the sixty feet over, (to try and put a face on the problem so there'd be a chance of a 'compassionate' response ... or a fist-to-cuff), I discovered no musician in sight. The only logical conclusion is that he's near his open window, completely hidden and completely oblivious ... but very close to where I’m desperately trying to concentrate, trying to crank out this high stakes pilot script.
Ready to take out a contract on the guy. It's definitely a guy.